Finest in the Shop
by Fae2135
Summary: Sweeney Todd/Phantom of the Opera crossover. An unsuspecting Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, pays a visit to the tonsorial parlor of the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.


**A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first attempt ever to venture outside the Wicked fandom, so constructive criticism about characterizations, etc. is more than welcome!**

**Okay, so this was inspired by a line from the song "A Little Priest" – **_**"It's fop… finest in the shop…"**_** And in my mind, the word 'fop' is inextricably linked with one Raoul de Chagny from Phantom of the Opera. Hence, this story was born. I apologize in advance to anyone who actually likes Raoul, but this little gem of an idea was too good to pass up.**

**Disclaimer: I am neither Stephen Sondheim nor Andrew Lloyd Webber. Ergo, I own neither Sweeney Todd nor Phantom of the Opera.**

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Benjamin Barker, better known now as Sweeney Todd the barber, puttered about his newly-established tonsorial parlor, putting everything in perfect order. The chair for the customers went here, just below the skylight, where the light was best to shave them by, the leather strop affixed to one side so that the barber could conveniently sharpen his razors without having to step across the room. The razors themselves, nestled neatly in their case, sat on the sideboard against the wall near the door. Next to his gleaming treasures, the mug for mixing lather and the brush for applying it awaited their summons. And for the final touch, a cloth slung over the back of the chair, to be draped around the patrons of his shop so as not to damage their clothing in the course of his ministrations.

With the room arranged just as he liked it down to the last floating speck of dust, Todd stood back and allowed a small sigh of satisfaction to escape as he surveyed his handiwork. Though most people would never suspect it from looking at him, he was the sort of man who had to have everything just so. If his things were not arranged exactly as he liked, it unsettled him, and he could not concentrate on anything until they were put to rights. Even Mrs. Lovett downstairs had learned already that to interfere at all in Todd's domain would be an act of sheer idiocy. She had heard him talk of his plans for taking revenge on those who had wronged him so many years ago. And she saw plainly enough that behind her lodger's frigidly calm exterior lurked a frightening propensity for violence and the strength of both body and will to perpetrate it. No, Mrs. Lovett would not dare meddle up here and risk the barber's wrath. The tonsorial parlor was safe from her penchant for secondhand decorations.

And a good thing, too, Todd reflected. After his victory over that street mountebank Pirelli earlier this morning, he would certainly be doing a fair trade in barbering before long. Why, customers might begin arriving at any time. And it didn't do to allow a woman's influence into a tonsorial parlor. For one thing, it showed a distinct lack of authority on the part of the barber who permitted a female hand to exert its power in his establishment. And for another, the world of a barber's shop was a purely masculine one. Gentlemen often looked forward to their visits to the barber as brief respites from the pressures of their family lives. They did not want to see anything remotely feminine that would remind them of what awaited them when they returned home after being shaved. And Todd prided himself on maintaining an establishment to which men enjoyed returning time after time. That, after all, was how one acquired customers, of which he intended to have plenty. Acting as a barber would at least provide him with a way to fill the time until he was able to lure Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford into the trap he was so deftly laying for them.

Thoughts of the corrupt judge and his equally crooked sycophant would usually have sent Todd's mind down the path of what the two wicked officials had done to him, and how sweet it would be to take his revenge. However, the pleasant fantasy was cut short this time as the bell above the entrance to his shop tinkled brightly, announcing that he had a visitor. The barber looked up to see an elegantly-dressed young man looking back at him, top hat in hand.

"Good day, Mr. Todd," he greeted the barber, his English impeccable, but laced with a slight accent that Todd couldn't quite place – French, perhaps? "Your neighbor downstairs told me that I would find you in."

"And here you find me," Todd replied, gesturing that the man should come in. "What may I do for you today, sir?"

The visitor's cheeks colored slightly, and he did not answer for a moment. "Well, sir… to be honest, I'm rather ashamed to admit it, but I have not been taking very good care of myself lately. You see, my wife and I moved here from France a short time ago to be married and to… well, to escape some unpleasant memories. She has just recently passed away – it was very sudden, and her death hit me quite hard."

"I see." Todd nodded gravely. The pain of losing a beloved wife was something with which he could identify all too easily. "I am sorry for your loss, sir. Such a thing is never easy to endure."

"Thank you," acknowledged the young man. "I am handling things better now, but I'm afraid I rather let myself go for some time, and now the damage is more than I can repair on my own. I find myself in need of a barber's services. And after hearing of your remarkable display of skill in St. Dunstan's market this morning, I knew that you were the man I must come to."

The barber smiled slightly at the reference to his achievement, pleased that it was already bringing in business. "I am flattered, sir. Please, have a seat, and let us begin." He gestured to the chair, which stood empty. "Rest assured that you are in good hands, my lord. We shall have you looking presentable again in short order."

The visitor did as Todd had requested, and the barber draped the apron around him. After mixing the lather and spreading it over his customer's cheeks, chin, and throat, Todd selected a razor from his case and began to shave him, nonchalantly drawing him into conversation to pass the time more quickly. The young man also availed himself of some of the other services the barber offered, requesting a skin massage and a trimming of the hair in addition to the shave Todd had already given him. When all was said and done, the customer rose from the chair cutting a more respectable figure than he had when he arrived. He inspected his reflection in the mirror attached to the sideboard and, pleased with what he saw, drew out his wallet to reward the barber for his work.

Todd pocketed the money offered to him and inclined his head briefly in gratitude. "I thank you. It has been a pleasure to receive your custom, Mister…" He trailed off, waiting for the gentleman to fill in his name.

"De Chagny," the young man supplied. "Raoul de Chagny."

"Monsieur de Chagny," Todd repeated, altering the honorific to suit the French surname. "I hope that you will come to visit my tonsorial parlor again in the future."

"You may depend upon it, Mister Todd," de Chagny assured him pleasantly. "A good day to you, sir."

"And to you as well."

On her way up to Mr. Todd's room to see how her lodger was getting on, Nellie Lovett ran into one of his customers just coming down. He tipped his hat courteously to her as they passed each other on the stairs, and she paused for a moment to contemplate his retreating back. He'd certainly looked a sight better just now than he had when he'd popped into her pie shop a while ago to ask if the barber was in. His face was clean shaven, his hair had been tidied up. And if she wasn't mistaken… she sniffed the air once or twice, and was certain that she caught a whiff of the lotion Mr. T. used to finish off a skin massage.

Mrs. Lovett narrowed her eyes, studying the departing young man more critically. She hadn't noticed before, but now that she took a better look, his clothes were more stylish than most, and quite nicely kept to boot. She wrinkled her nose. The over-attention to dress, the evidence that the young man had pampered himself with a skin massage… it could only lead to one conclusion. _Now there's a fop, and no mistake,_ Mrs. Lovett thought to herself with a disdainful sniff. _I may not be the wealthiest woman in London, nor the best-dressed neither, but at least I don't go about putting on airs like some people!_ And with this highly self-edifying bit of criticism, she continued on her way up the stairs.

Raoul de Chagny returned to the tonsorial parlor above Mrs. Lovett's meat pie shop in Fleet Street the following week, just as he had promised he would do. However, it was a very different Sweeney Todd that now greeted him with a smile and beckoned him to the chair. Monsieur de Chagny had no way of knowing about anything that had occurred in the barber shop since he had last visited.

He could not possibly have known, for instance, that as he left the last time, he had just missed Signore Adolpho Pirelli's arrival, or that Pirelli had attempted to blackmail Todd, or that Todd had handily dispatched his rival barber with a few quick blows from a tea kettle and then a razor across his throat.

Nor could he have had any inkling of the diabolical and ingenious plan that Todd and Mrs. Lovett had concocted to dispose of the body, or that Todd had been driven mad with frustration and despair after having Judge Turpin in his clutches, only to have him leave in a fit of rage with a promise never to come again.

He had no idea that Todd now intended to assuage his fury at being thwarted by slitting the throat of any customer who would not be missed if he disappeared.

And he certainly did not realize that, by informing the barber the week before that he was a widower with no children who had only lived in London a short time, he had marked himself as just such a customer.

So, blissfully ignorant of all of these things, Raoul de Chagny seated himself in the chair beneath the skylight, allowed Todd to cover him with the cape, and innocently tilted his head back, baring his throat to the barber's razor.

Later that day, Mrs. Lovett almost snorted with glee when she saw the newest batch of filling supplies for her meat pies. Why, it was the foppish gentleman she had seen just last week on the stairs! Leave it to Mr. T. to recall the mad, hysterical quips and jokes they had made as they discussed their plans for disposing of his future victims. Mrs. Lovett hummed merrily under her breath as she began to prepare the new supply of meat to become part of her pies.

Later that evening, she climbed the stairs to the tonsorial parlor with a mug of ale in one hand and a fresh, hot pie wrapped in a napkin in the other. Glancing through the window that composed the top half of the door, she quickly ascertained that her lodger was alone, and proceeded to enter the room.

"It's just me, luv," she said when the barber looked up at the sound of the door opening. "Thought you might be hungry after workin' all day up 'ere, so I brought you a bite of supper."

Todd acknowledged the accuracy of her guess with a grunt, and took the mug and the pie that she held out to him. Setting the ale aside, he unwrapped the pie, eyeing it a bit skeptically before directing a questioning look at her.

"Finest in the shop," Mrs. Lovett told him innocently, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

Todd raised an eyebrow, and took a moment to process this statement. Then, when the full purport of her words hit home, his eyes lit with sudden understanding. The two shared a knowing grin before Mrs. Lovett departed, leaving Todd to enjoy his supper in peace.

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**I love reviews the way Toby loves gin. Uh-huh. Except reviews don't make me pass out in the middle of the floor.**


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